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Poetry of Issue #8        Page 80

The Married Lover

Lessons unlearned on vivid afternoons
One thigh length away
Your great hand strokes splendid, breath-held strokes
I turn my shoulder
thinking no again, no again,
no no no
My unconscionable need pulls a grafting wound
an itch, slipped stitches skin to skin
I will not let you in, I will not let you in, I will not let you in
You are in.
And out.
My minute visitor
The flower caddy
The wine purveyor
The great dictator of words as soft as sin
The interlocutor of greed
The master of the slippery line
The pleasure is always yours, my married majesty,
And sometimes mine
But consequences—that mean red bottom line—
Are always solely mine.
Go.
Home.

  Toby┬áDevens